Piecewise Function
by brightened
Summary: Drunken sex is not the best way to start a relationship. Nor is it the best way to start a story if you want it to not suck. Stan doesn't want either of those things, because he's not gay and won't be talking about that night anytime soon.
1. Chapter 1

Jesus fucking Christ. Fucking Jesus Christ. Christ fucking Jesus. Which doesn't work the way I want and laughter hitches in my throat, or would except this would be the worst fucking time to laugh, ever. I really don't want to be here, still rutting into Kyle's pale little ass, and laugh. At least he's still wearing a shirt. And his - Kyle's - fingers grasp the edge of his mattress, fisting the sheets. Should not use the word fisting right now. I can hear his constant stream of fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck and I'm not sure if he's lamenting what we're doing or enjoying it. Probably both, cause that's what I feel. My dick has never felt anything so good and my head has never known anything to be so wrong.

He convulses in this little spasm, muscles tightening, and I'm leaning my head forward against Kyle's back as I orgasm, not sure if he wanted me to come inside him, not sure if it matters. We're drunk. He probably won't know the difference. Just have to clean him up before we pass out. Waking up with splooge dripping out your ass. Ugh. Splooge. Ugh.

Kyle doesn't look like he's coming any time soon so I pull out and peel off the condom because it takes me a few seconds to work up enough courage to reach around and jerk him off. His dick doesn't feel so different from mine. Hotter, I guess. Warmer, that is. Not more attractive. I don't like penis.

He arches, thrusts, squirms a little. His eyes are closed and I hope it's in ecstasy not out of a desire to avoid looking at me. I'm giving him a hand job. He better not be avoiding me. My goddamn face. I bet I look fucked up. High off my first time ramming a guy's ass and drunk out of my head. Not just a gay. Guy. Kyle. My best friend. Shit. We've fucked up.

His semen. On my hand. I'm thinking more that it's happening than how it feels. I can't handle that right now. Yet or ever. We're a sticky, sweaty mess and I'm thinking I hurt him with my lack of preparation. It's not my first time with anal and I know the right things to do. I should've been more careful. Fuck our bodies for wanting this. Or acting like they did. Do.

Kyle's already up and wiping himself off with a shirt. I don't think I should do the same. Ha. Hey Kyle, let me use your Megadeth shirt to get your cum off my stomach. Thanks. Best friend. Kyle throws the soiled shirt, then our discarded pants, on his bed and peels the sheets off, bunching them into a pile.

"You should shower." He looks directly into my eyes. Smiles which is a good sign. I try to smile back but I think I'm drooling a little so I wipe my mouth instead. Ah fuck. That hand was either just in his anus or wrapped around his dick. I want to spit but think that would be uncouth. Ha. Ha. Ha.

"Yeah. You need help or?" I ask. Polite young man that I am.

"I'm good." So I shuffle into the bathroom. Off-white. Linoleum floors and ceramic tiles. I know where every chip is and where every stain came from. Originated from I mean.

I leave my shirt on as I step into the spray of cold water. It hits my face like a slap, if that's a cliché enough simile for you. I don't move for a few minutes, stare directly at the water spout, and then peel off my shirt. I start to feel a bit more sober and awake as I wring out my shirt and toss it into the sink. It's really not such a big deal. I tell myself. We were drunk. Horny. Kyle hasn't gotten laid in...who knows how long. I haven't gotten any since Wendy and I broke up. When was that? April? The thing is I don't normally care about sex too much. I like people, relationships, memories. Not randomly fucking. Randomly fucking Kyle. Fucking alcohol.

I rub body wash vigorously, too much, too fast. My fingernails scrape my skin a few times, leaving thin gashes. I don't feel pain. Just strung out. My hands are a little more gentle when I rinse away the suds, although I'm not sure why. Fuck my body. It is my enemy.

I didn't lock the door, out of habit, and Kyle slides in. He peeks around the shower curtain, changed into basketball shorts. Masculine. His eyes stay locked on my face. Well why would he look anywhere else? He's seen it all before. "You're still staying the night," he says, asks. It occurs to me to blurt out I'm not gay. I think that's rather irrelevant.

"Of course, Broflovski. Who do you think I am?" I half expect him to answer: faggot. He just grins. That signals everything's okay and now I'm doubly aware of my intoxication and just sleepy. Want to sleep. I'd planned on crashing on his bed, rubbing my smelly feet against his face. Not such a good plan now. But God, sleeping on the floor. Thanks for that, libido.

"Alright. Well I...started the laundry. I think I need to shower though." With me? No, of course not, fucking moron.

"I'm done," I say, shutting off the water. I wrap a towel around my waist and try not to cough. "Did I hurt you?" We're being decently mature. I figure it's okay to ask. I do care. As much as this sucks. It didn't suck. It felt so fucking good. Fuck Kyle for being so good at...laying there, I guess. Which sounds wrong.

"A bit," he says, always honest. "It's fine. Nothing tore, I suppose." Then stands there. It takes me a few seconds to understand he wants me to leave. Shy about undressing in front me. I almost laugh. I walk out of the room instead. A few seconds and then the sound of water. I steal the comforter after the newly made bed and settle down on the floor. It's only fair I get that when he gets the mattress. Even if it's not, fuck fair. Goddamn fair. Life isn't fair. Everyone will tell you that and you'll never believe it but now I do. If life was fair, I wouldn't have just buttfucked my BFFL. Not that we've ever called each other that. Sounds too faggy. The irony is amusing, I'm sure.

I fall asleep.

* * *

A/N: This is loosely based on table 5 from the 100_situations livejournal community. By loosely, I mean I'm picking and choosing those that work and making up some if I need them. I'm pretty sure this won't be 100 chapters. Also, as far as sex scenes, does it work? Should I avoid them in the future? I felt like this one was necessary but I also feel like it wasn't well-written because sup virgin and I don't want them if they weaken the story.


	2. Chapter 2

I skip breakfast and head home. I almost wreck the truck twice because, fuck, I'm hungover and can't concentrate and more than a little guilty. Pretty sure I just took Kyle's butt virginity and walked out.

I left my cellular in my room because fuck texts when I'm at a party. I check my phone first thing and have twelve, ten from Wendy, one from Kenny, and one from Kyle. Fifteen minutes ago. Not going to read that one first. I scroll through the previews of Wendy's and decide not to open any except the last one, which is her asking me to call her. I hit down and press send. Her number dials.

"Stan!" Chirpy fucking voice. Hits my head like a fucking chainsaw. Power drill? Not anything good.

"What's up?" I ask, always polite for her. I loved her first and longest. Actually, haven't ever loved any other girl. I can't be a dick now, I owe her that much.

"Nothing's up. I just wanted to know how your party was. Did you meet any girls?" My party? Ulterior motives? Never change, Wendy. I want to hurl my phone across the room.

"Mmm. Think I got about six girls pregnant and maybe the dog. Can humans fertilize animals?" She sighs. Like a mother. Kyle's mother more than my own.

"I guess I should know better than to call you right now," she says.

"I called you."

"I'll talk to you later, when you're in a better mood. Have a good nap, Mr. Grumpy." Talking right over me and then hanging up. It's weird. Wendy is such a smart kid but so fucking goddamn shithead stupid whenever she talks to me. I miss when we'd been together and she'd trusted me with her opinions. Smart opinions. The older she'd gotten, the more materialistic and simple she'd become, but never in front of me. Until April. Fuck that. Too bad I don't care enough to confront her about it.

I don't care at all about her right now. I can't get my mind off last night. Off Kyle. Off his pale white butt and thighs against the tan gained from years of soccer shorts. God. Why was I even finding this attractive? I don't like guys. Hairy legs. Stubble on his upper lip. Veiny dicks. None of this was grossing me out. Fuck! Well maybe the dick part. Vaginas didn't get me too excited either.

This was retarded. Just cause I'd gotten drunk. Fucked Kyle. Kyle. I was thinking about his body and not him. The guy who was my best friend and who probably hated me now. I read Kenny's text now. He'd gone to some chick's home and gotten laid. Needed a ride home. Nine hours ago. I don't really want to give a shit but I do. Have to find out he was okay. I call twice and leave a voicemail when he doesn't answer. I don't want to push it. Kenny could take care of himself and I want to call Kyle. No I don't. I want to read his text.

_hey stan. how did burger king get dairy queen pregnant? he forgot to wrap his whopper. at least he didn't forget to not fuck his best friend, am i right? i'm right._

Well, what the fuck does that mean? A lame joke in the middle of some...shit.

I snap my phone shut and don't call Kyle. Doesn't sound like he wants me to. Not that I want to. I can go a day without talking to my friend. Even if it's a day after we had sex. I need to get the fuck over this. Tomorrow is Monday and we'll have to spend three hours and a lunch period together. Not counting work. So suck it the fuck up. "It" being how shitty the situation is. Not sexual, I swear.

I nap then eat then nap then piss and then check my phone again. Missed a call from Kenny and he texted to say he's fine but the gang's getting together at two. It's one. I can make it easily but I'm not sure if I want to. It could suck a fuck. It could be an easy way to struggle through awkwardness without really acknowledging it. I don't think Kyle will be a douche around Kenny and Cartman. I don't think he'll be a douche at all.

When I get to the arcade, the other three are already there. Kyle looks decidedly nervous. Eric looks fucking fat. I punch Kenny on the shoulder and he pinches my nipple through my shirt and I pull viciously on his hair and he knees me in the balls and now he's in a headlock. I hold him there for a few minutes as he struggles but release him when he looks like he's about to pass out.

"You win the battle but not the war, motherfucking commie." Kyle is watching us but Eric has already waddled off to play something. Kenny goes after him. He'll kick his ass in whatever game but I hate him cause now Kyle and I are alone.

"Pacman?" Kyle asks. Something classic, something safe.

"Only if you take Mrs. Pacman," I say. He grins and I'm struck by how good he looks. He's shed his hat and coat now that we're indoors and I see him as my lifelong best friend and also as a hot fucking kid. His carrot Jew fro and his muscular little body, stretched tight against an old Terrance and Phillips shirt. Fuck me for noticing and liking all this. I know it's post coital hormones, or I would if Kyle was a girl. Does gay sex release the same shit? I'm not sure and I'm not going to ask.

"No I won't marry you," he says and drops a quarter into the machine. He misses the look I try, and fail, not to give him.

"Sucks for you. That means you won't be getting this ass every night." And I'm joking, of course, the same shit we always say. But his smile flicks into uncertainty for half a second, half a second too long, and I'm thinking and remembering all bad things so I smile back when I really would rather bend him over the air hockey table -

Jesus Christ, Marsh. Shut up.

Pacman doesn't strictly allow competition but we compare scores anyway, and of course for every win he has, I get one. But he won first so by the time Kenny comes over and ends our match, Kyle gets declared the winner.

"You're a cheating whore," I say. Kenny has slung a friendly arm around Kyle. I don't like it. Cartman joins us now and suggests we get food. Of course he does. "We've only played one game."

"Maybe you fags did, but we've been here an hour and I'm bored as fuck. Let's go get some chicks." It's hard not to laugh at the image of Eric trying to pick up a girl. I've seen it enough that it's more a tweaked memory than a skilled imagination. Kenny doesn't have to go anywhere special to bone someone - he's already been eyeing this brunette for ten minutes. I don't really want to deal with sex right now. I hope Kyle doesn't. No. I don't give a fuck. His body, not mine. No relation to mine.

"I've got to piss," Kyle announces. Doesn't look at me but I think I know.

"Me too." We walk off but go outside instead of into the bathroom. It's really damn cold and neither of us grabbed our jackets. At least it hasn't snowed recently. We're due for some, from what the news said. What the fuck am I thinking.

Kyle leans against the wall and doesn't look at me. I can't look away from him. Hadn't realized his hair had gotten so damn long. Almost to his shoulders. Curly and red and feels really good when you're grabbing a fist of it, just so you know. So you're aware.

"Are we just gonna forget it?" Kyle says and sounds just a bit sad. I don't know why. He can't be gay. I'm not gay. Kyle's not either. We were drunk.

"Is there another option?" I ask.

"Come out as lovers and hold our head high amidst the insults," he says and is smiling now but I don't find it funny.

"It has nothing to do with other people. I just have nothing to come out about. Do you?" Kyle tilts his head up a little, looking at the clouds I guess, or maybe just anywhere other than my face.

"No," he says but it takes much too long for that word to come out. "It was just a drunken mistake." I feel relieved. Mostly. I ignore every other feeling I may or may not be having.

"Good fucking job," I say, hunching against the cold. "Let's go back inside."

* * *

A/N: Soooo let me rant for a second. Feel free to skip it if you don't care, it's not relevant to the story. And this is not in response to a review I got or anything like that, but I really really don't understand when people are against slash because the characters in SP (or any fandom, for that matter, because I've seen it in Harry Potter too) are clearly straight. It's, um, fanfiction. If I wanted something true to the cartoon, I would go to southparkstudios and watch episodes. Which, incidentally, I just started doing and hoooly shit the first episode sucks. Hahaha.


	3. Chapter 3

Forgetting is a really stupid concept. It's impossible to make yourself forget something. At least really hard. Especially when said thing is having sex with a guy, your best friend, when you're both straight. I'm really dwelling on that subject. I wish I could get punched in the head and contract amnesia. If you contract amnesia. Get it? Fuck it. I would like to forget even if I never will.

I am grateful, sitting at my usual lunch table, in my usual spot next to Cartman, across from Kyle and Butters because Kenny doesn't have this lunch. That little mistake could have been the funeral of my friendship with Kyle. Okay. Admittedly, it kind of stabbed it in the kidney. Every time I look at Kyle, I get this sort of stomach flop and I want to touch him, his face or fingers or neck. Other places too but no, I don't. What really sucks is that Kyle has the habit of chewing on pens, which is both disgusting and arousing.

Right. Forgetting. Not thinking about. Good in theory, horrible in practice.

Kyle and Eric are involved in some sort of argument about Jews or blacks or marine biologists - whatever Eric is targeting this week. I steal a fry off Kyle's tray and look at Butters. He's reading. Not school related reading either. Dork. If only he hadn't been such a good friend in elementary school, we would have gotten rid of him long ago. Alright. He's not so bad. He's good for laughs. He's pretty smart. He's bicurious. Which isn't good, really. Just there.

"Stan!" Oh. Wendy is gliding her way through the classroom, sometimes twisting sideways to avoid hitting pushed out chairs. I halfway stand up then sit down. I don't want to get pulled into a hug.

"Wendy!" I don't mean to mock her but I inflect my voice the same way as she does. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. She just bends over my shoulder. Kisses my cheek. More like the corner of my mouth. She stays bent down and curls her arms around my neck, smiling around at my friends. I look up now. Kyle looks like he want to cut her stomach open and pull her organs out and then skin her and make a stew out of her carcass. Okay. I don't know how that looks. He looks pissed. I can say that. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm kind of wanting Wendy to get the fuck off me.

"Stan, you know the Sadie Hawkins dance is coming up." Right. This Saturday. First Saturday of November. "Want to go together?" Not really. We broke up. You're dumb as fuck in public. Those are my only reasons. The only reasons I'll admit to myself.

"Hey, hey! Stan already had his chance. Why don't you ask a real man?" I'm not sure whether I should be amused or disgusted at Cartman's outburst. Wendy snorts.

"Get real, fat ass. I'm asking Stan," she says. Only it's more like Staaaaaaaaaaaaan and her arms tighten around my neck and I can feel her eyelashes on my cheek. It's not like it doesn't feel good for her to touch me. It does. Doesn't mean I want her to. Doesn't mean I want _her_. But I don't know how to say no. If she'd asked me Friday, I would have accepted without question. For the hell of it. On the off chance I'd get drunk and lucky, with some other girl. I'm done with Wendy's vag. So I know why I don't want to say yes and I don't like it.

"Sure, Wendy. I'll pick you up at 8," I say and do not look anywhere near Kyle. She squeals and squeezes even tighter around me. Her boobs are uncomfortable lumps against my shoulder blade. I can remember easily when she used to hug me from behind and I thought it was the hottest fucking thing in the world. Too bad life changes. And shit.

I expect her to go away but instead she slides into the seat next to me. I'm pretty sure she's just being friendly but I don't like it. I'm not liking a lot of things these days. I should lighten up. To amuse myself, I smash a fist into my empty drink cartoon. Which actually isn't empty and it explodes, spraying everyone at our table with chocolate milk. I drag my hand across my eyes as Cartman lurches to his feet and throws out every dirty word he knows. Would be an impressive amount if he hadn't taught me all those words before. I yawn, theatrically, to drown out his curses. Kyle laughs a little, not making a move to wipe away any of the milk. It drips steadily from his chin, sliding out of his curls and onto his face. I'm not watching that. Wendy isn't as bugged out as I would have expected her to be. I judge her too harshly. Maybe. I'm feeling bad about that. Then her hand slides down to my knee.

"Hey Wendy, want to go somewhere?" I ask. Thinking of the best way to tell her that I'm not interested in her. Not thinking of what that question could suggest, not until I see her glossed lips curving into a smile and Kyle scowling down at his styrofoam tray. Fuck that noise. We agreed it didn't mean shit. I could go bone Wendy in the remaining ten minutes of lunch. If I wanted.

Why was I suddenly so angry? He wasn't jumping across the table to stop me from leaving. He hadn't said or done anything. Don't think about it. Especially not when Wendy is pulling me into the hallway, leaning against the wall, running her thumb against the back of my hand.

"Wendy..."

"Stan, I'm really glad we're reconnecting. I needed some time off to reevaluate my life and my goals, you know. All that senior year talk scared me, then." What? Why was she scared about _senior_ year? She'd already been accepted with a 75% scholarship to some private place in Nebraska. And if that didn't work, she had great grades. She was getting out of this shitty town, while me and my friends stayed losers in the community college. "But I know now, that my future has a place for you." Well isn't that fucking nice. Glad I can be here whenever your future has a place for me.

"I'm sorry," I say. Untangle my hand. Plan the best way to say what has to be said. I really don't want to hurt her. As irritated as I am right now. "You're a good friend but I think our time as boyfriend and girlfriend is over." Has been over for, um, six months. When you texted me and told me you were done with dating a toddler. When you got me fired so we wouldn't have to see each other at work. When you threw out all your Breast Cancer Run and Humane Society and Other Nice Shit shirts and filled your closet with cleavage tops. No, I'm not bitter.

"Are you breaking up with me?" She's shocked. Offended. Angry. Nothing she has a right to be.

"Uh, Wends, we've _been_ broken up," I say.

"Don't _Wends_ me! There's someone else, isn't there?" Uhhhh no. Sarcastic.

"Uh. No?" Uncertain. Shit! Now she's striding back to the lunchroom and throwing open the door. Now she's looking around the room, eyes narrowed, trying to locate the sluttish cretin. I almost want to laugh. By almost I mean not at all.

The bell rings and I take that as my cue to get the fuck away. I don't need to wait for her to fling names at me. Especially when there's no one else. No one at all. There has to be a first person for there to be an "else." But damn if Wendy isn't going to crucify me the moment she sees me again.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I swear I won't be putting notes in every single chapter. But I just wanted to make it clear this isn't really a plot-oriented story. The 100_situations I mentioned before is a list of 100 words where the author is supposed to take one couple and write 100 drabbles/oneshots/whatever using those words. Mine is a BIT more connected than that, but there's really nothing other than some Style.

Also my Cartman is a fail. Sorry about that!


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, minimum wage jobs. How do I love thee? Let me count the fucking ways. Except, in all honesty, it's not so bad. There's faggot customers and grease spills and fat ass coworkers, but Kyle and I almost always get the same shifts because of school. Which is nice. Was nice. I'm not sure if the whole my penis in his anus thing will change that.

I go home in the hour between the beginning of my shift and the end of school. I left my phone at home. Again. Not really much of a cell phone person. I probably won't have one out of high school. Can't justify paying so much for something I rarely use. Anyway.

Anyway, Cartman spammed my phone with demands for help on a test, and then the subsequent rage when I didn't answer. Dick. I'm planning on mass deleting them when I accidentally scroll up instead of down. First text of the day was from Kyle. Asking me to call him. Not sure if it's really worth it, now, considering I'll be seeing him in 30 minutes. So I change into my uniform, throw my phone on my bed, and drive to work.

Driving. Always nice. The radio, or any shit, blasting from the speakers. A cool breeze from the window. Assholes cutting in front of you and then slamming on their brakes. The strong possibility of getting killed or of killing at any second. Good times. But my truck offered the only freedom a teenager can have, so I jumped on that shit the moment I turned 15. And small town roads aren't as bad as, say, New York. Is anything as bad as New York?

Kyle's in the oddly empty parking lot, freezing his ass off. Arms crossed over his chest, puffy in his ridiculous orange jacket. I'll never understand why he keeps buying those damn things as fast as he grows out of them. "Hey," I say as I walk closer. Stuff my hands into my pockets and wonder why I'm still not adjusted to this cold. "Get out of my way."

"Can't," he said. "Well, I can but there's no reason to go inside. We failed the health inspection and the place is getting shut down."

"Fuck! Dude, what am I supposed to do for money?"

"Well you've saved up enough that you have a few months to look, right?" he asks but he's smiling like the little dick he is because he knows I haven't.

"Fuck off, Broflovski," I say but don't mean. He grins. Coughs into his gloved hand.

"You wanna hang out? That's why I asked you to call me." If a girl said that to me, it would be her annoying ass way of reprimanding me for not calling. As is, it was just Kyle. Being Kyle. Chillin'. Except Kyle does not chill. I don't either but that's a whole different story.

"Sure. You driving?" I ask. Kyle shifts on his feet and smiles sheepishly.

"Uh, no. I don't have my car," he says and won't look at me because that means he walked all the way here instead of asking me for a ride. Under ordinary circumstances, I would bug him about it. Under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn't have avoided me.

"Well then, just get your pussy ass in the car and pay me for gas later," I say, sliding into the driver's seat. He moves slowly and I'm in the process of backing out when he throws the passenger door open and leaps in. I expect him to call me a name, insult me for not waiting, tease me. He just buckles up and looks out the window. Hm. Not hm. I know why there's weirdness. I just didn't think he would be so obvious about it. "Where do you wanna go?"

"I don't know. Just drive." So I do and several miles go by silently. I turn on the radio at the first red light and Kyle promptly turns it off. "So, you and Wendy?" Jesus Christ. I don't want to talk about this.

"Not really. I have no one else to go with so I figured, what the hell?" That sounds really callous. I don't try to soften it. Kyle doesn't say anything. Just reaches for the volume dial. Turns it up, too high, and then shuts it off.

"Stan. I can't do this," he says. I glance to the left, out my window. We're passing fast food joint after fast food joint. I turn and pull into the parking lot of a McDonalds. My parking job is sloppy. I don't give a fuck.

"Get out," I say, not looking at Kyle but very aware that he's looking at me.

"What?" he asks. Angry. More than that. Hurt. I'm not going to be emotional about this.

"If you can't do this, then don't. Get out," I say. He doesn't move. I want to punch something. Or someone. Or at least be able to breathe easily because suddenly it feels like something has taken up residence in my chest and is clawing its way through my lungs. I can't and don't want to talk about what happened and the faggy feelings I've been having. "Get the fuck out, Kyle."

The passenger door slams and I jerk the car into reverse. I don't look at Kyle. I know he's watching me and if I look, I'll fucking run him over.


	5. Chapter 5

Working at a fast food joint is great. Applying at one? Infinitely better. I'm drooling with anticipation of my future afternoons job hunting. I remember from before I got the job I just lost. You get to stand in the back of lined up fat, hungry, bitchy people. You get angry, or blank, stares when asking for an application. Cause you're honing in on their turf. Honing. Is that really a word used video games and movies? Dorky movies, I'm sure. I'm not so sure why I'm using second person to talk about myself.

And I'm not so sure why I'm not talking to Kyle. Wednesday, he came up to me after school while I put away my books. He leaned against a locker three down, not crowding me. He wasn't happy and that hurt a surprising amount. I ignored that and slammed my locker shut. "What?"

"I was just gonna say, I got hired at the movie theater on Elbert. They're still looking. I can put in a good word if you want," he said, all smiles and niceness but nervous too. So of course I tear him down.

"Wow, a good word from their employee of one day? I bet that would be real fucking impressive." Right about then, Wendy walked over and after she wrapped herself around him in a hug, I dragged her away and drove her home. Leaving Kyle alone and sad. Not that I cared. Care.

Now it's Friday and I can guess a similar event is about to happen, with Kyle already leaning against my locker as Wendy and I head towards it. "Hi Kyle," Wendy says. Chirps, really. "I heard you're going to the dance with Bebe." Heard as in, I know she asked and you said yes but I want to hear what you'll say so we can giggle/fume about it later. I'm not good at reading anyone's subtext but Wendy's is too easy. Or maybe my skill triples when I'm pissed.

"Yeah," Kyle says and he's looking right at me. "I'm excited. It should be fun." Perfect answer, Broflovski. I wind a hand through Wendy's hair and curve my fingers around the back of her skull. She likes this, I know. Strange how anger at Kyle can override anger at Wendy. Not really strange. I always feel more for him. And the Wendy hurt is memorable but faded by time. She wants to try again. I guess I do. Don't but will. Then again, she doesn't want to try. As far as she's concerned, we're a done deal, boyfriend and girlfriend forever and ever or until she gets scared or I get drunk.

"Doesn't that sound fun, Stan?"

"Uh, yeah," I say. Not listening. Wendy grins and squeezes my arm. Stan looks faintly surprised. I probably should have just admitted I wasn't listening. Now I'm doing something. I think. I don't have to think long.

"So we'll see you and Bebe Wednesday," Wendy says and pulls me away. As I chauffer her home, she chatters. And chatters. And chatters. Through her endless stream of words I learn what I agreed to. Double date, ten fifteen showing of some chick flick. Kyle gets discounted tickets. Fucking great.

When I pull into Wendy's driveway, she tells me her parents are gone for the weekend. Smiles. Blushes just a little. Oh. Well. She says we'll watch a movie and twenty minutes later she's pulling down my pants and I'm thinking the whole thing is very boring. What's that word. Vanilla. Maybe. Not like that softens my boner any. She gets on top because I don't feel like doing much. My back is really grossly sweaty. Then I think: I'm fucking Wendy and not enjoying it. By that point it's too late to change anything cause she's already orgasmed and gotten off me and reaching to finish me off. I push her hands away.

"I'm okay," I say. She looks at me for a long long time. Then she stands up and says we should shower. I watch her butt as she walks out of the room and for the first time think of Kyle. Hers is so much bigger, rounder. She obviously tans nude. Unlike Kyle. Fuck! What am I doing? Shut the fuck up Stan. Stan's mind. My mind, connected to my body which is unable to get off with a perfectly hot girl I used to love. Still do, or should.

The shower is fine. After I take her out to her a buffet we have sex in her backyard, better this time. I guess. We sleep outside. Saturday I drive her around and wait as she gets her nails and hair done. Then she tells me to go home to get ready for the dance. Bebe, Annie, and Sally pull up as I kiss Wendy goodbye in the driveway. I try to smile through their catcalls but I'm actually goddamn irritated and happy to go home. It's a fucking Sadie Hawkins dance and she's getting her hair and NAILS done. It's not the damn prom. I wish I had money to throw away on stupid shit like this.

I speed and switch lines carelessly the whole drive home. This helps. I wear jeans to pick up Wendy and when she sees me she sighs and brings out a suit jacket. Her dad's I guess. It's big on me cause he's tall and fat. I wear it anyway. She spends the whole ride to school silent. Cause she's rubbing my dick through my jeans. The whole time. I'm actually really impressed at my ability to not come. Cum. Come. Whatever.

I'm embarrassingly flushed when I see Kyle. Kyle and Bebe, Token and Annie, some kid from a neighboring town and Sally. Kyle's wearing jeans without the jacket. Lucky bastard. Lucky Bebe, cause in his attempt to look nice he chose his tightest fitting clothes and - I don't care what the fuck. It's cold but no one wore hoodies or jackets. Annie's nipples are poking through her thin white dress. She clearly didn't wear a bra. I'm not really interested.

"So," Token says, "let's go inside." Murmurs of assent and it's funny that this is a Sadie Hawkins and all the guys still grab their girls and herd them inside. I let Wendy lace her fingers with mine and lead me indoors. I feel so passive. So out of touch. I just want to go home and sleep. I should have gotten drunk beforehand. Half the students clearly have.

I sit down without waiting to see if Wendy will invite me to dance. She goes off to dance with Sally. Fuck it. Kyle plops in the seat next to me. Shifts so his knee is against mine. Shifts again so our thighs are pressed together. I shift away. He follows and we get in this little game of chasing each other while planted in chairs. Thirty seconds in and I'm forgetting he's trying to fag on me. Two minutes. I laugh when he scoots too hard and falls onto the floor. He grabs my ankle, my calf, pulls me down with him. His hands grip my waist as he uses my body to pull himself closer to me. I can smell alcohol on his breath, now. I'm surprised. Kyle's never been much of a drinker. Probably why last Friday didn't happen sooner. Don't think about that. Impossible not to.

"I've missed you, man," he says. A little breathless. We both are. My shirt still fisted in his hands. His crazy hair brushes against my chin as he looks up at me. I feel like I'm floating, as gay as fuck as that sounds. I'm not sure how this escalated so fast. I'm not sure why we keep moving closer to this gay little romance no matter how often or far I run. Run. I run my hand over his hair, touch his face, indulge for just a second. It's been hard to stay away from him. Then I push away, sit up. No one's looking at us. Thank God.

"I'll see you Wednesday," I say and find Wendy, determined to not get anywhere near Kyle the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

"Would you want to marry me, Stan?" Wendy asks. I'm not sure why she's talking about this. Not sure why she's talking at all when 10 seconds ago she was blowing me. Not very well. I can tell she doesn't want to and she's not very good at it. But I'm avoiding having sex with her for now.

"I'm 18," I say. As if that would settle everything. Hoping she'll go back to what she was doing. Instead she sits up. I sigh and stuff myself back into my underwear, zip up my jeans. Things are going to be messy when I get home.

"Yeah, but I'm just saying. If we were older. Would you?" She suddenly looks really sad as she puts her bra back on. I watch her nipples disappear under green and white striped fabric and shrug.

"I don't know." I should lie. I know I should. Everyone lies. I just can't do it. Can't bring myself to say such a lie when she's looking so sad.

"Okay," she says, puts her arms around my waist and puts her head on my bare stomach. "I love you, Stan."

"Yeah," I say. "Me too."


	7. Chapter 7

The Wednesday double date starts off perfect. I worked that day, first day at my new job, so it's nice to relax. Wendy wears a short dress, Kyle gets us free popcorn, Bebe...well. Bebe's just Bebe. Then had to go to the bathroom, halfway through the movie and dragged Wendy along with her. As soon as they're gone, Kyle reaches into my lap and squeezes my dick. I grab his hand and bite his fingers. Hard. It's meant to hurt. He makes this little noise of pain and I feel suddenly bad. So I kiss right over the bite mark. He grins when I do this. Purposely sticks his fingers in my mouth. I'm glad we sat in the top row and the theater is mostly empty. I shove his arm away but not before I feel his fingertips running over my tongue.

It's been like this ever since the Sadie Hawkins dance. Stupid little gay moments and touches every time we're alone. Or at least not surrounded. I don't know why it's happening. I don't know why I don't stop it. At least talk about it. At least make it clear I'm with Wendy now. Again. And love her. And am straight. I'm straight and still don't stop Kyle when he turns and buries his head in the space between my neck and shoulder.

"You smell so good," he says, whispers. "God, I want you." What? What? His hand rests on my knee as he pulls away. I don't know what to do or say. I don't know anything. Except this needs to stop. His hand is warm and heavy and he squeezes as our girlfriends appear at the bottom of the stairs. Our girlfriends. Jesus Christ.

Friday at school, he's entering the bathroom as I push open the door to leave. He smiles and steps forward. I want to step back but don't. "Is anyone in here?" he asks. Shouts, not at me. Looks over at all the empty stalls. Then pushes me into the middle one, pushes me against the wall, pushes the lock in place, pushes his mouth onto mine. It's the first time we've kissed since we fucked. My heart is beating fast enough to, I'm sure, shatter my ribcage and my eyes are open and I feel dizzy and amazing and so damn turned on and we haven't even done anything. It's too much. I shove him away, keeps my hands up to stop if him if he tries to get close. Not that he can get too far away in this cramped little stall. I unlock the door and step out, shaky at the thought of someone having seen our feet. No I'm shaky from Kyle fucking Broflovski. I don't know what to do. I wash my hands.

"Stan." He says my name so firmly. Nothing like Wendy. Stop comparing. It's not fair. To who? But I know. To Wendy. I dry my hands off with paper towels and still don't look at him. I can picture it easily. His chest is probably heaving because I can hear his breathing. His hair is always wild, springy and long, and his face...I can't do this.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You said it wasn't a big deal. You said it meant nothing," I say and am careful not to scream at him but I want to. I want to raise my voice. I want to hurt him. For making me feel all these things.

"I said it was a drunken mistake," he says. "I said I would forget it. I tried to. I can't." I turn around now. His eyes are wild, his hand gestures apologetic.

"I can't _fucking_ forget either. But I'm going to. So stop. Just stop. Please."

I leave. I skip the rest of school. I skip work. I wait for Wendy at her house and when she shows up, I drive to the back of a Kmart and fuck her hard and fast in the bed of my truck. She seems to like it. She smiles as I hold her afterward, kiss her face and neck and tits. Trying to like these feminine things attached to her chest. Trying to like her long black hair as I run my fingers through it. Nothing like what I want. Nothing like Kyle.

* * *

A/N: Right now I'm kind of over this story. I just don't like it. But it's done and there's 3 chapters left, all much longer than this one and the previous one.


	8. Chapter 8

November ends cold, December starts colder. Nothing unusual for South Park. My original replacement job fires me so I apply at a pet store and get hired. Where I am now. Restocking shelves of hamster bedding. It's a relatively small store so there's only ever three employees and a manager at once. The other restocking dude, Owen, walks over now and grins.

"Tim just left," he says. Tim the manager. A huge douche who uses the bathroom every five minutes and then a fifteen minute smoke break without clocking out. Huge douche. "Want to close up early?"

"Sure," I say. So we do. He walks out the front door after me and turns around to lock.

"So," he says, still fiddling with the door, "You like to party?"

"Maybe," I say. I'm supposed to go to Wendy's now and I'd like to stop by the library first. I don't want to be held up by Owen, nice but chatty guy that he is.

"Well I'm having a Christmas party," he says. Turns around now, jams his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "This Saturday, since so many people leave. Want to come?" I say yes. I take his scribbled down number and address. Maybe Wendy will want to go. She's never been much for parties. As I fold the scrap of paper and put it in my pocket, Owen drops a hand on my shoulder, squeezes. "I hope I see you there." Oh. What? I'm not stupid. I don't want to jump to conclusions. It sure as fuck seems like he was just flirting with me.

I pick up a few books at the library and then go to Wendy's. When I walk into her room she's stretched out on her bed, wearing just a Santa hat and red and green socks. I don't really like when she wears socks while we have sex. I don't take them off, just straddle and kiss her, grab a handful of boob. Which is really all she has. "What if I'd been your dad?" I ask, referring to how she'd been laying. I lean back and unzip my jacket. She makes a face.

"Don't talk about him now," she says. Arches and smiles. "Now's about you and me." Okay, Wendy. I finish stripping and start fucking. I'm kind of bored with the whole thing now. That one time in Kmart meant I couldn't refuse sex anymore though. I'd tried once and she started to cry. So I just kind of do whatever she wants. I do like holding her afterward though. She seems so happy. I want her to be happy, no matter what I don't want. Like her body or her heart.

We end up falling asleep. I wake up afterward at about one. Shit. I dig through my pile of clothes, find my phone. Yeah. My mom's called me about fifty times. The most recent time was about fifteen minutes ago, so I figured it's okay to call back. She picks up on the first ring and I let her yell at me as I dress. Wendy wakes up as I pull on my shirt. I make a face and gesture to my phone. She gets out of bed, kisses me, pushes me out the door. Perfect affection understanding girlfriend. I am a lowlife.

The next day is a snow day. Three day weekend and I'll be spending it in my room, except when I work. Which, mercifully, is that afternoon. I don't mention the party to Owen and he doesn't bring it up. Saturday I have off and after two hours of watching shitty cartoons I order a one month subscription to World of Warcraft and play away the rest of my free time that weekend.

Monday is worse than most Mondays because my weekend sucked and it's the last one before break. When Wendy sees me, she throws her arms around me and kisses me and makes this big show over apologizing. Bebe comes over, possibly attracted by the estrogen. Kyle in tow. I'm not unused to seeing him but I still am careful to not meet his eyes. Play the part of Stoic Stan. We haven't talked since the bathroom incident. Since I realized I'm a faggot. Funny how having had sex with Kyle doesn't bother me but knowing I have actual feelings for him is just too much. Not funny at fucking all.

I don't want to think about this but now I know better than to think I can push it away. The best thing to do is acknowledge everything I'm feeling and thinking and then plan around that. Usually by avoiding Kyle.

Fingers dig into my arm. Pull me back to the present. "Stan," she says. Staaaaaaaaan.

Since I'm indefinitely barred from Wendy's house, she clings to me during the week. I'm starting to get seriously annoyed. As a small act of defiance, I decide to spend my first free night at the party Owen invited me to. Alone. Except it's not really fun since I decide to be a responsible driver and not smoke or drink and it's boring to be sober around a bunch of idiots. After about twenty minutes of making small talk with various kids, I decide to go. I'm about ten feet from the door when a hand grabs my shoulder, turns me around. Kyle. He's completely sober and good smelling and smiling. Fuck.

"Stan," he says. Firm and warm and his hand is still closed around my shoulder. I feel each finger burning through my clothes. I can see now he's nervous. I don't blame him. I blame myself for being fucking fucker fucking fuck I need to leave. I push his hand off and take a step back but he moves with me. Stays close. Too close.

"I'm leaving," I say and go outside to my truck. The passenger door isn't locked. Never is. Kyle gets inside. I think about refusing to drive until he gets out. Instead I take off, thirty miles above the speed limit. I'm not worried about getting pulled over. Kyle doesn't say anything for about twenty minutes. We pass the sign saying, "Thanks for visiting South Park!" and now he does.

"Where are we going?" I don't answer. Just drive. Now that we're outside of the town, I pull over at the first motel I see. Kyle looks at the sign with widened eyes. "Are we going to talk here?"

"No," I say, throwing aside the seatbelt I don't remember buckling, taking a condom out of the door compartment and tucking it into my pocket. "We're going to fuck."


	9. Chapter 9

I don't think I can do it. Now that we're here. Kyle looks scared. I guess not downing half a dozen shots beforehand really makes a difference.

Really I just want to hold him. To kiss him, his nose and cheeks and eyes and God, those lips. To have one night that is soft and beautiful and sober. To give in to being a homo for just a couple of hours, just a breath of time in my life. Kyle doesn't look any less scared when I sit down on the bed. I wonder what he'd do if I told him to drop his pants and bend over. Commanded him to. I couldn't anyway. Just slam into him. It'd hurt too much. Be too dangerous.

"Kyle," I say and am humiliated when my voice breaks. I don't trust it anymore so I open my arms. He practically throws himself at me, red hair and pale skin and big brown eyes. I feel stupid and girly and like the biggest pussy in my life but I decide I can forget that for right now. Forget what anyone would think of they saw me because they can't and won't.

We fall back. Lay next to each other. His eyes are locked on me. I look everywhere I can. I've seen him shirtless so many times but not like this. Familiar but new. I reach out and run my hand down his side. I can feel his ribs, a thin amount of body hair, goosebumps.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay," he says. I withdraw my hand and look up, away.

"Then why are you with Bebe?" I ask. He smiles.

"To see you more," he says. Guilt free. I think about how Wendy would react if she knew I was leaving her for Kyle. No I don't. I don't want to think about her right now. Anyway there's no comparison. Bebe and Stan didn't have a decade of history. Stop.

"Yeah and you nearly killed me with that. Having to kiss Wendy when I just wanted to kiss you," I say. It's true. He smiles again, flushes, happy. I kiss him now. Feel his flat chest against mine. For a second, I'm more curious than aroused, and I reach up and press a thumb into his nipple, drag it downwards. Just to see. It hardens right away and he grins into our kiss. Now that his mouth is open, I open mine. That tongue on tongue contact is too much for me. I stop thinking. Just feel. Feel his hands on my chest, my nipples, my belly button. Then on my zipper, then down my pants. I arch into his hand and he laughs, leaving my mouth to use his tongue for other things. It's too much. It's too good. I want to feel this every night, all night, forever.

It's after, as I drag the back of my hand across my mouth and wonder if there's complimentary toothbrushes, that Kyle ruins everything.

"What are you going to tell Wendy?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbow. Casual. Careless. So fucking hot.

"What?" I ask, dropping my hand.

"You could write her a note. Dear Wendy, Kyle has stolen my heart and as such I'm never getting near your whore mouth again. XOXO, Kyle," he says and grins. I feel an irrational combination of fear and anger swell up.

"She's not a whore," I say. Can't keep the anger out of my voice. His smile drops. He looks at me. For a long time. A long fucking time. I start to feel uncomfortable. Then he picks up his briefs and stands to pull them on.

"I see." His back is to me, his spine curving out from beneath his skin. I want to run my finger along the bones, or just touch him in any way that will make him stop sounding so cold.

"What did you expect me to do? I can't just break up with her. I can't just be gay," I say. Helpless. Pleading. He should understand. He needs to understand.

"It's the twenty first century, Stan. Gays aren't killed anymore. At least not in fucking South Park. Mr. Garrison is a pervert and no one touches him," he says, now working on stepping into his jeans. He's not doing it very well because his hands are shaking. Shaking. I fucking made him shake. Cause. He's crying. Shit. His voice had sounded normal. Why the hell is he crying? We're guys. We're. We just. "I thought the issue was you still liked Wendy. I was a fucking whore because I thought I was trying to win you over. I didn't know you were just being retarded."

I grab him by the belt loops and pull him onto the bed. "Kyle. I - Don't be mad. I want to be with you," and it's so fucking hard to say and he doesn't believe me. "I really do. You're my best friend! You're hot and I adore you. Everything about you." I have to pause because I am forcing each word out. It's true but it's just so...gay. I've never said anything like this before. Not even to Wendy. But the thought of losing Kyle is worse. Much worse. "I want to but it's just too hard for me right now. With Wendy and my parents and fuck, Cartman would never let us live it down. Can't we just - Why don't we - "

"Fuck in secret?" He still hasn't looked at me. At least he hasn't walked away.

"If you want to put it that way," I say. I know this won't last a week. I'm not sure if it'll even last a day. I can't just not try.

"I'm not putting it any way. I'd be happy to call you my boyfriend." He pulls his shirt off the floor and slips it on. "But you know I can't stay away. So fine. I'll be your shame." He looks at me. "Get dressed so we can leave."

"I didn't pay for a hotel room just to use it for an hour," I say. Protest. Whine. Kyle smiles but it's not a happy smile.

"No, you paid for it to fuck me." And he sounds bitter so I don't remind him that I didn't.

I get dressed and take him home. He's silent the whole time and I keep the radio quiet. I want to kiss him before he gets out but there could be people watching. His parents. So I squeeze his thigh. He opens the door, steps out, turns around and takes my hand.

"Let me kiss you," he says. "No one will see. Turn off your lights." I do. His hands grab my neck as he kisses, bites, licks.

"Spend the night tomorrow," I say. He kisses me again. I take it as a yes and turn my lights back on as he hurries up his driveway. God. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do when I have to deal with Wendy. But I can still feel Kyle's mouth on mine, on me, and I turn up the radio and sing along as I drive home.


	10. Chapter 10

I spend Sunday working, glad for the excuse to ignore Wendy's calls. And call she does, and when I listen to her first voicemail on break I hear she's found out I went to a party. She's pissed. I listen to her most recent voicemail and she's in tears. Fuck. I feel simultaneously guilty and annoyed. I know the right thing to do is to cancel with Kyle and take her out. The right thing to do is not cheat on her.

As I drive home, I call Wendy and explain away the whole thing. Or try to. She answers the phone and immediately launches into a speech about commitment and sacrifices and personal responsibility and that with me being barred from her house, I had to be more giving with my weekend time. Knowing Kyle's waiting for me at my house, I almost tell her to fuck right off for good.

I hang up.

When I throw open my front door, Kyle's stretched out across my couch, watching TV. He sits up, holds out his key and smiles, as if I could have forgotten. He's had a key to my house since sixth grade. "My parents here?" I ask. Their vehicles aren't there but you never know. He shakes his head.

"We're alone." Alone. I don't need more encouragement than that to plop down on the couch next to him and pull him into a hug. His body feels nice in my arms and I'm mad I waited this long. Of course, it's only been two months. Crazy. It feels like a lifetime, now that I know what I was missing. Wait. When the fuck did I turn into some kind of romantic girl? Basking in the hug of her boyfriend. Ha. I push Kyle down and kiss him, rough, hard, and he likes it. And I'm thinking, fuck it. I don't need Wendy as a cover to hide this. And really, she doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve to be cheated on and lied to and thought of as a piece of obnoxious shit when really, she's nice. Really. Nice. For someone else.

I kiss Kyle once, twice. Then take out my phone and call Wendy back. Kyle's not smiling anymore. "Hey, Wendy," I say.

"Stan? Did we lose our connection? " she asks

"Wendy, I've been doing a lot of thinking. You're a really great girl and I love you as a friend but this isn't going to work," I say in one breath. Not sure what to expect. Most likely anger. Tears. Accusations and pleadings to get back together. There's silence on the other line, then an exhalation.

"I see," she says. Another breath. "Okay. Well. I'll talk to you later." Hangs up. I close the phone and set it down on the table next to me.

"That was weird. She just...took it." I look over at the phone, as if expecting it to ring and it be the emotional girl I've been waiting for.

"She probably didn't want to cry and embarrass herself," he says. Not callously. Obviously not concerned, though. "So, you're gay then?" Fuck. Why did he bring that up now? Now, when I just want to kiss himand hold him and all those other...gay things.

"No. I'm just...Kylesexual," I say. It's supposed to make him smile. He doesn't.

"That's bullshit. What happens when we break up? Are you going to go back to girls or dating guys?" he says. I'm surprised at how angry he is. I slide off his lap and grab the remote, acting like I can hit the buttons hard enough to calm him down.

"I don't fucking know. And you're not going to get some sort of epiphany out of me. Just stop. We have time to talk about this, okay? I'll figure it out." There's silence.

"Well, if it's not clear enough, Stan, I'm gay. Homosexual. Is that wrong?" he asks. Oh. _Oh_.

"Oh," I say. "Kyle. Come on. I don't think being gay is wrong. I think _me_ being gay is wrong." He's obviously not happy with this answer but he doesn't push it. Just crosses his arms over his chest and I'm irritated this moment was spoiled. I should have called Wendy after we fooled around. I just thought it would make him happy.

We sit side by side for a few minutes, allegedly watching TV but I can't focus. Then he reaches out and takes my hand. Squeezes gently bfore lifting my hand and putting my fingers in his mouth. Jesus. I guess he forgives me then. I know later I'll have to deal with my sexuality, later I'll have to talk to Wendy, later I'll have to choose between revealing my relationship with Kyle or losing it. But for right now I'm happy, and fuck anyone who wants to take that away from me.

_The End_


End file.
